Writing Excerpt: Survive

The Mythomania Project: File 1-8

"The human capacity for burden is like bamboo—far more flexible than you'd ever believe at first glance."

Jodi Picoult

"Lying in bed, I replayed the day’s trauma in my mind. My body still trembled, ever on edge, terrified she might wake and come to torment me again."

The stillness of the night soothed the turmoil in my mind...

In the room next door, I could hear her steady breathing, and I wondered if her demons haunted her in her sleep. How could she sleep so easily when I couldn’t?

Tonight was no exception. From the morning on: reproaches, mockery, unfounded accusations. It seemed she never tired of taking it out on me. The anxiety that never left me kept my senses constantly on edge.

I no longer dared to move, to speak, to breathe...

Even simple actions like washing or going to the bathroom were subjected to an interrogation from which I knew I wouldn’t emerge unscathed. On days when it was just words—destructive as they were—I could still muster enough moral strength to endure. But on days when her fists struck my body and her screams echoed in my ears... The fragile, adored figure of her virtual self revealed the hidden monster within, her rage crashing down on me like a hurricane.

Today, it was my fault again because the boy she wanted to sleep with hadn’t chosen her. He had fallen in love with someone else, and of course, it was my fault. Because, naturally, I was always to blame...

Her bulging eyes nearly popped out of their sockets as she hit me, screaming that I was nothing but a “filthy blonde whore.”

I protected my head as best as I could, trying to withstand her blows, but the hits rained down on me in waves. The pretext: I had sent out negative vibes to ensure he wouldn’t choose her, and my blond hair reminded her of the rival she couldn’t eliminate...

Lying in bed, I replayed the day’s trauma in my mind. My body still trembled, ever on edge, terrified she might wake and come to torment me again.

The pain almost numbed my back and legs, a sensation of floating overtaking me, as if my soul were desperately trying to detach itself from my body... Survive...

I was torn between the desire to pray for my life to change, for this nightmare to end once and for all, and the urge to plead for him to take me away, to claim this silent soul stripped of all human worth... Why me? What had I done to deserve the hatred of this sister?

As strange as it may seem, I never hated her for all of it. Neither love nor hate—only a deep yearning for liberation. To end this nightmare and be done with it for good. I was condemned to suffer within the four walls of the apartment, at the mercy of her madness, with no one to help me... I couldn’t understand the faint spark of life that still lingered within me. I almost felt guilty for sensing it; I didn’t know its purpose... survive...